Pregnant, a light-hearted Supernatutal fanfic
by ConnorBaker
Summary: Castiel Angelface is in labour, and the cramped hospital room gradually becomes a point of reunion for the repeatedly dying cast; there is a dispute over naming the law-defying child, Sam is gradually more and more lusting to be accepted into moose society and Dean can't remember something important about something he left in his car boot. -Lightly Destiel, MPreg, AU.


_**Just to clear things up: I have never watched Supernatural, this is a light hearted experiment some friends recommended I try where I just use my knowledge of snippets of conversation and uncaptioned gifsets on Tumblr to write a full piece. Imaginably, it is a comedy and very light, but do not come here expecting some sort of elaborate implementation of the canon Supernatural storyline, whatever that might be. I'm not asking you to like it, or think it is a good idea, but please understand that my knowledge is not gapped, it is completely non-existence. Anyway, it might teac h you about how Supernatural looks from someone who doesn't watch it. Enjoy. **_

"You know, it would help the nurses if you took off that trench coat", Dean suggested in his peculiarly deep voice, which newly-pubescent 13-19 year old girls find so ovary explodingly stimulating- the sudden volume of his gruff voice reverberated across the silence, startling the befuddled nurses somewhat. "But… Dean, this is my 'giving birth trench coat", Castiel Angelface reasoned, breathing out heavily in irregular intervals, "every situation and context… except… except they're all covered in dirt and angel blood anyway. So… so I suppose they're indistinguishable despite my efforts of varying my wardrobe". Although he had done well to create a façade of not feeling human emotion and pain, Princess Dean still deduced a sort of strain and discomfort in Cas' face but couldn't quite put his finger on what it was as he watched his boyfriend laid down in a hospital ward, awaiting the arrival of his pregnancy. It was at this point that Dean realised that something he thought he understood at least at a necessary level –he hadn't finished his education, but had taken to killing demons and stripping at grungy bars- or so had thought: men don't give birth. Usually that's only women. However, the whole eight-and-a-bit series that had been filmed of Supernatural had had a noticeable effect on what he understood as justifiable, and had shrugged it off as he had shrugged off every other elaborate but unorthodox plot point of the show. Besides, he only cared about his boyfriend, and how this child and anomaly of the basic laws of human mating would strengthen their relationship, and his mind was on other important aspects of his life: pie, the Impala… Actually, there was something he had needed to remember about the Impala in the car park of the hospital where all the little angel boys go to have babies apparently. It was either that he had left the radio on, or he had left the Prince of Hell tied up in his boot. _Oh well, _he thought quietly to himself to not bother his pregnant hubby, _it can't be that important, can it_?

_"_Dean, are you salivating wildly at the mouth? In my current situation, is it really necessary for you to think about pie?"

"Oh, Cas, I'm sorry, but, you know, a man has needs- sweet, well baked, delicious needs served with cream", he daydreamed.

Castiel sighed, and frowned pathetically at the nurse who was in a state of panic about why a man had a nine month pregnancy but nowhere to push it out of. "This should hardly be a surprise, I am, was, an angel of the Lord. I have, I mean used to, have wings to". Dean scowled at Castiel, as the poor young nurse had to leave the room, eyes full of tears and in mad hysterics. At this point, unhelpful Dean and bewilderingly pregnant Castiel turned to the door to hear a repetitive knocking, as if a man was struggling to get through a door. "Oh for Chuck's sake, not again", Dean muttered under his breathe.

Sam had not yet fully mastered or made habit of walking sideways through doorways, and was not a quick learner as he is at growing moose antlers out of the sides of his head for again some unexplained, but completely accepted reason. The antlers weren't all that bad, and rather charmingly complimented his long, flowing, maroon coloured waves of pure sex appeal, which can only be described as _'as if Rapunzel had given up waiting in a tower of hers, joined a punk rock cult and of course and made the decision to become a man somewhere along the way'._ But, of course, even your own writer who has never watched the show knows who the deep voiced, pie obsessed princess in the room is, and, as a hint, his name begins with the letter 'D'. The phenomenon of Dean's brother's moose-like characteristics had been the product of continuous recognition of him compared to photographs of moose, with a surprising resemblance- one can only speculate that Benedict Cumberbatch had given up his days as a dragon, scarf-donning detective and Star Trek villain, and had taken to living as an otter; he plans to act in the long-awaited Series Three of _Sherlock_ in this form. In a similar way, Sam was on the brink of becoming entirely 100% moose, which he did not mind as he enjoyed the moose culture and way of life, fully participating in moose activities, but was eager to be fully accepted and integrate into moose society. He could picture it now, Sammy the demon hunter by day, Smoosey the moose by night.

_"_Oh, don't look at me as if I am the peculiar one here, your angel boyfriend is in a hospital bed pregnant, and your little brother walks in with a little bit of full sized antlers, and suddenly _I_ need to sit in the naughty corner?", he asked sardonically, biting his bottom lip to stop an intruding grin at his witty comment.

_"_You…"_, _Castiel barely made out, panting slightly, "you don't understand the severity of this situation".

"Yeah, unhelpful moose, I know you're type", Dean added, trying to approach him from across the room intimidatingly, but failing to square up to him and just looked as if he had a limp.

Sam opened his mouth in shock, appalled at their distasteful moose-ism, "Well, this isn't severe, it's hilarious. We don't know if that… that thing is going to come out of his ears, or butt, or even-".

"If I may interject", one of the nurses added, the others surprised one of the workers had mustered the courage to speak, "we _think_ that it's a boy".

"Oh, oh well that's terrific!", Sam replied immediately, "and I suppose that validates the normality of the situation".

Dean's princess eyes lit up, watering slightly as he let out a girlish squeal, _"a boy,_ oh this is wonderful, what shall we name it, Cas?"

"Well, I suppose… I suppose just if we are speculating, we could give it an appropriate name", Castiel said, sweating and raw eyed, his distress a lot more apparent than it was a few minutes ago, "… Misha?". The two of them, paused, and apart from the hushed arguments between nurses about the sheer impossibility of the situation, the trio of hunters were wordless, disappointed by the name, but not having an alternate suggestion.

"A bit… girly? Isn't it?" Dean replied gently, breaking the silence finally with his impregnating voice.

"Well, we could call it Misha I believe people somewhere people do have that name, although it's nothing I've ever hear a moose having", Sam began to think quietly to himself, "what nationality is Misha originally from. I mean, we could choose a moose name, I feel it would really show to me that you accept my life choices-"

"I'm not naming my half-angel smoochypoo after some feral animal from Canada! Or, at least, as feral as things from Canada can be", Dean exploded, suddenly protective over his impossible son.

"Oh well, well, well… you know my species, but you don't know my story. I'll have you know that moose are well cultured animals, in fact in the young history of moose, the alpha moose were given names after great linguists and intellectuals: Poe, Byron, Milton, Dante, Seneca. I mean, what would you call that would be so great anyhow? Impala the second?"

Dean did not register this as an insult towards him and to extension his precious car parked outside the hospital, "No, Sam, obviously it would be called Impala Jr!".

This scene, this drama of petty name calling and 'moose prejudice' continued, their voices raised and oblivious to their boyfriend and ex-angel in labour. Despite his pleas to stop fighting between intervals of painful grunting and moaning, his attempts to alert them were in vain- the whole scene had erupted into a chaotic battle of grudges, and distressed nurses and doctors feeling obliged to leave the room as two obviously stressed and very pressured brothers carried out their unresolved argument.

"ENOUGH!", Castiel shouted in a sudden attempt at authority, and as both Dean and Sam looked over to him they noticed the wear and torment on his face, red and raw with the aggravation of male childbearing- and although there was the comedy and annoyance of the situation, it was the first time Dean had acknowledged Castiel feeling something, anything so strongly. Dean got caught in the angel's bright eyes which pierced through his hardened heart as a hunter, and it was then at that very moment where he didn't see an emotionless Stoic of a man, crossed between incapable and not wanting to illustrate how he felt so vividly to the two of them. Without hesitation, Dean ran towards the bed the other side of the room where his fallen angel laid, and clasped his hand tightly, and again a brief interval of silence fell in the soothingly painted walls. The silence that had reunited the couple was broken by a rather bewildered looking man who had just stumbled through the same doorway Sam had had quite some difficulty with in his new form; the man spoke softly, and glanced down at a clipboard every now and again, obviously alert and conscious of the earlier drama from room moments ago, and paranoid of provoking the three of them again.

"Sorry to interrupt the three of you… um… Winchesters, from your friendly dispute. But, at reception, there is a visitor for this room extremely eager to see the three of you. He stated rather proudly that his name is… um, 'Crowley, Lord of the Sex and also the Underworld. His appearance is distressing the other visitors, his hands and feet being bound and ductape and, rather queerly, requested for one of the members of our staff to remove what was described as a pink, BDSM ball gag from his mouth".

The three looked at each other awkwardly, befuddled, and a feeling of inability to conduct a coherent sentence. Castiel, unexpectedly, broke the silence, "Do you think he's brought me some flowers, it would have been more of an effort than either of you two made".


End file.
